Scented Twilight, Rising Moon
by Seoinage
Summary: Even though a captain of the Gotei 13, he hides his face from view. This is just one part of Komamura Sajin's story. COMPLETE


**Title:** Scented Twilight, Rising Moon  
**Author:** Seoinage  
**Gift for:** battlejoy at Bleach Exchange on LiveJournal  
**Request:** Komamura or Isane-Anything (They needs more attention!)  
**Spoilers** Up through manga chapter 175  
**Disclaimer** Disclaimer: BLEACH © 2001 by TITE KUBO/SHUEISHA Inc. and assorted corporations who bought various rights to it.

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"Grandma, I'm back with the herbs you wanted!" he called out, wincing when his voice cracked on that last syllable. Well, at least most of the sentence hadn't fallen prey; lately he'd taken to saying as little as possible to save himself that embarrassment. Growing up sure did have its faults.

Not only was his voice changing, but his growth spurt kicked in recently with a vengence, leaving him a deep bone ache that even a good hot soaking in the nearby hot spring didn't get rid of. He was starting to get used to feeling abused by his own body.

Grandma always just smiled faintly as she rubbed her special ointment onto his legs, something that she did every night ever since she'd notice his predicament. In that crinkled, warm voice of hers she'd say, "My dear child, I'm sure that even our Gods go through a day or two like this."

"But it's not just a day or two," he'd grumped, not bothering to hide the little boy whine, nor the up and down whimsies of his voice.

She'd chuckled, the sound little more than exhalations disturbing the air. "And yet you have this old woman's salve to help. That's not a bad thing, right?"

At that he'd turn his head to the side, pinching his cold nose between two fingers as he scoffed, "Not when it stinks so much." Still, he'd make no move to get up out of his chair, even as the pungency really would make his eyes start watering after a while.

So she'd stop her treatment and bow at the waist, still kneeling on the floor. Her scented hands would rise in prayer above her head as she intoned respectfully, "Oh mighty Gods, you who blessed me with his care, are now a witness to this foolishness. This child knows not what he speaks of. Forgive him, because he's suffering from his body growing while his brain is left behind."

"Humph!" Crossing his arms and closing his eyes, he'd pretend to fall asleep, furred face resting on his chest. She'd grin at his display and silently go back to the treatment.

Every night, the fire he'd carefully build in the pit at the middle of the room would warm them and provide enough light. And every morning, when he woke, the fire would still be blazing and ready to cook the breakfast being prepared by his wide-awake grandmother. He'd never minded waking hungry to that.

After eating, they'd go outside to do chores, though as years passed and fall bled into winter, she'd take to staying inside more and more. During those times, he'd accomplish what needed to be done, such as gathering the herbs for that ointment of hers.

Having just returned back from one of those herb picking trips, he leaned over and set down the laden basket on the floor next to the fire pit. They had no table, as it would only take up valuable space in their one-room hut. He frowned when he didn't see her anywhere. Did she go out after all?

He went back outside, blinking to adjust his vision to the bright sunlight, a sharp contrast to the gloom of the windowless interior.

The forest laid all around him; the relatively flat clearing the hut rested in being well hidden. He'd never gone past the boundaries set by his only family member and guardian, so he knew not where the closest village lay. Not that the urge to wander didn't strike him from time to time. It did. But he only had to fetch their daily water to see his reflection to understand why, and to wonder how much he resembled his father's face.

There would be no way for him to keep his grandmother safe if others found out about him. Just like with his mother.

A rustling noise from around the back of the hut drew his attention, drawing him from his darkening mood while prompted him to head towards it to check. A small frown narrowed his yellow eyes even as he fell naturally into a soft and almost noiseless tread. The forest taught well those who wanted to survive.

When he finally found her near where the hot springs bubbled, he felt no remorse for his next action. Making his way right up behind her to stand, as she sat dazed on her log, he cleared his throat loudly.

She exclaimed and jumped – well, she tried to jump and straighten up away from the possible danger – but only managed to lean forward in shock, rolling her weight on one hip to peer, quite in a tilted fashion, up at him from her uncomfortably cold perch. One free hand came up to clutch at her chest. "You almost caused my death!"

He stared unblinkingly down at her. "Hey, Grandma, I got those herbs."

Releasing a deep breath and patting at her chest in relief, the elder collapsed back down into her former seated position. "Is that all you have to say to me?"

"Well, yes."

Exasperated, she shook a closed fist at the small stone shrine tucked safely into the hollow at the base of a large tree looming some four feet away. "Sometimes you try my patience, Gods!"

As he took a seat besides her on the log, somberness fell over him, even if her short outburst was made in jest and not in seriousness against him. "I know that...she...wasn't capable of accepting my birth. Even after all that, you raised me."

A wrinkled hand came to rest on top of his youthful one as she responded lightheartedly, "I hope this isn't your way of protesting the chores I'm asking you to do." She paused then, seeing his countenance, and her age seemingly pressed upon her. "I wasn't made to do anything. I'm doing what I want to do because I'm a selfish old woman. At that time, your mother didn't understand, and she…had been so hopeful. That daughter of mine thought her dead husband had come back to her."

"Instead..." he muttered, "that happened and I came. And then she–"

Her hand patted his gently. "You are a blessing of the Gods to me, even if they like to be mischievous Gods at times."

"How is it that," he growled, "having a _kitsune_ change his appearance to do what he did and then only to disappear afterwards…" At this he paused, gathering breath before continuing in a voice steady increasing in intensity like suppressed thunder. "…How it is that I'm still a blessing?"

She patted his hand again before getting creakily to her feet. "Come. Today, you'll learn how to make my special salve."

He stared at her. "But I'm–"

_"You are,"_ she whispered, _"My dear Komamura."_

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"…ou…Komamura-taichou?" The serene voice finally broke into his train of thoughts. She must have been calling his name for some time.

The waxing moon cast a milky yellow-white glow over the two sitting companionably on the private veranda attached to the Fourth Division captain's office. Nodding his head slightly in silent apologies for his inattentiveness, he waited for her to continue speaking.

"The tea is here." The soft-spoken woman explained, her posture relaxed and graceful. "Isane?"

"I'm sorry for the wait, Unohana-taichou, Komamura-taichou." The vice captain came into the room to stand in front of where they sat. Kneeling down, she set the lacquered tea tray on the tatami-covered floor between the two. "Shall I pour?"

Getting an affirmative response from her long-haired captain, Isane did so, trying not to spill a drop of the tea even as her hand rattled the spout against the lip of the ceramic tea cup. She bit her lip in consternation at the sharp sound and flashed a quick glance at her superior.

A soft, understanding gaze touched her for a moment before it shifted to look upon their visitor. That gaze gave Isane enough courage to finish filling both cups with the fragrant liquid, wasting not one drop. Smiling inside, she put down the pot to pick up one of the cups. Holding it by the base with both hands, she presented it respectfully to the visiting Captain first and placed it directly in front of him. She then did the same with her own captain.

Bowing a little, the vice captain made to get up, but Komamura's question stopped her. "Were you making something today? Your hands, they smell."

Gasping and then flushing in embarrassment, Isane rocked backwards into a crouch, weight resting upon her heels. Mortification didn't cover it. "A-Ah! I'm so sorry, Komamura-taichou! That's why it took me a little longer with the tea. You see, I was washing my hands and–"

"Isane," Unohana interjected kindly, "I do not believe Komamura-taichou meant that your hands smelled bad. Instead, it may just be unusual for those outside our division."

Looking from a spot on the floor to her captain's face and then back to that spot, Isane tried to unobtrusively wring her hands together. She daren't look at him for fear her blush would deepen. "M-my apologies, Taichou, Komamura-taichou. I shouldn't have taken it that way. It was my misunderstanding." She finally looked up, and when she did, her composure was back. At least on the surface. "We were making salves today and I'm afraid my hands still bear the proof."

"Salves?" As if he didn't know what those were. "I see."

After those three words, he said no further.

So Isane made her escape. Once she stepped outside into the hallway and closed the door, she leaned momentarily upon it. What had just happened?

First, he'd unexpectedly visited and now this? Puzzled, she straightened up, and then slowly walked away, a thoughtful look on her face. The bewilderingly hidden flickers of emotions – at least she'd venture to label what she might have seen as that – that might have been there for a second in his golden eyes. Had she really seen them?

Solitary silence answered her back.

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**A/N:** _Kitsune_ are Japanese fox spirits. Having access to magic that gives them many abilites, amongst them transformation, kitsune can be both benevolent and malicious. Often, folktales or myths will have a female kitsune turn into a seductive woman, but there are mentions of male kitsune turning in men also. Tricky and smart, you may come across one the next time you step out into the woods of Japan.

Komamura's background is a total figment of my imagination. Unless, of course, Kubo Tite ends up writing something similar, which I doubt::laugh:

Constructive comments and critiques are welcomed. :)


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